Through Glass
by westpoints
Summary: songfic 'I'm looking at you through the glass, don't know how much time has passed...' Mark left New York to go after Addison. Markcentric. Could be a companion to 'Quiet'


Mm. My first foray into songfics, and possibly my last, because it was an effin pain to do. Anyway. This could be considered a companion to 'Quiet,' if you ignore the fact that 'Quiet' is not a songfic. **Bold stuff** means we're alternating between present time and Mark's memory.And...yes, I know. Humor/Angst? Whaaaat?

I don't like this song. I really, _really_ don't. However, because it's been stuck in my head ALL DAY, I had to write it. And it is kinda appropriate, even though in reality it's referring to Hollywood glamour. Oh well.

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Grey's Anatomy, nor do I own "Through Glass," by Stone Sour.

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_I'm looking at you through the glass  
Don't know how much time has passed  
Oh God it feels like forever  
But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home  
Sitting all alone inside your head_

**He wasn't** moping. He wasn't even slightly depressed. He was simply sitting on his couch. In the dark. Gripping a bottle of water. He made a point not to drink heavily after she left, because then he'd be like _those_ heartbroken dirty mistresses, and he didn't want to be like that. Besides, he couldn't very well get hammered if she was staring at him from behind the glass of a frame. He was too busy staring back, wishing that she would come back.

_How do you feel, that is the question  
But I forget, you don't expect an easy answer  
When something like a soul becomes initialized  
And folded up like paper dolls and little notes  
You can't expect a bit of hope  
So while you're outside looking in  
Describing what you see  
Remember what you're staring at is me_

It was a stupid wish, he knew. She was in love. In _love_, italicized and all. Just like in the photo. Stupid, stupid words played through his head. He felt delirious, and if it wasn't for the hospital work, he probably would be.

**It was **her wedding day, and she was...stunning wasn't strong enough. And in the midst of all the photo-ops with her husband and respective family members, someone had managed to snap one of the bride and the best man. She had found him in standing next to the cake, laughing and telling a story about her to a pretty blonde.

"Mark," she interjected, a finely shaped eyebrow on the rise.

"Speak of the devil," he said. "Excuse us." He stepped a few feet away and hissed, "Addi! Congratulations, beautiful ceremony, you look wonderful, hope you guys have a wonderful honeymoon, you're a handsome couple, and I'm about to finally get a life, so please don't ruin it for me!"

"Give it up, Mark. You're too obsessed with your job to get a life."

"Oh, you're one to talk." She raised her other eyebrow and flicked a glance at her wedding band. "Accusation retracted."

_Cos I'm looking at you through the glass  
Don't know how much time has passed  
All I know is that it feels like forever  
But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home  
__Sitting all alone inside your head  
_

**What was** that? Ten years ago? Eleven? He could just inspect the back of the picture, but that would involve popping out the back of the frame, turning on the lights, turning off the lights, pushing the back in, and putting the frame back on the table.

Nope. Not worth it. It took much less effort to just sit there and wallow in his pitiful self-pity.

"**You know**," she said, leaning in as though she was sharing a secret. "Derek may think you're his best friend, and I may be madly in love with him, but...I know that I'm your best friend and you're mine."

"As long as we can still have night long drunken confessions, you know it."

"What night long drunken confessions are you speaking of?" He smiled.

"You wouldn't remember," he told her teasingly. And right as he dropped his head to hear her whisper a particularly embarrassing situation he related to her during said confessions, smiles playing over both their faces, someone took a picture.

_  
How much is real, so much to question  
An epidemic of the mannequins  
Contaminating everything  
When thought came from the heart  
But never did right from the start  
Just listen to the noises  
- Null and void instead of voices  
Before you tell yourself  
It's just a different scene  
Remember it's just different from what you've seen_

"You know," she started again after the camera wielding fiend was chased off, "I _do _have a cousin..."

"Addi, do you remember the last time you and Derek tried to set me up?"

"Now Erin was a very nice girl, even if—"

"She had a fetish for latex!" Addison rolled her eyes.

"Come on. Jordan's very nice, understanding, and she's absolutely latex free." He let her drag him by the arm for a few yards before he dug his heels in. Quite literally; the rubber from his soles left black tracks on the carpeted floor. And when that didn't free him, he simply jerked away.

"Mark!"

"Oh Addison, just because I was successful with you and Derek doesn't mean you get to experiment with me," he whispered quickly, referring to his remarkable matchmaking skills.

She laughed. "Oh, Mark. One day, some woman's going to catch your eye and then you'll wish that I was there to help you."

_  
I'm looking at you through the glass  
Don't know how much time has passed  
And all I know is that it feels like forever  
But no one ever tells you that forever  
Feels like home, sitting all alone inside your head _

**He polished** off the water and threw the plastic bottle at the frame. He missed. "Look at me," he demanded of the photo. It was strange how, in the few seconds between him lowering his head and her looking up, the camera managed to get the one instance when she was staring straight at it.

"I'm drunk and I don't even have beer in the house. All the scotch is gone. No wine. No champagne. No vodka, no rum, no whiskey. Not even root beer. Look at me, Addison. Look at me, look _at_ me, and tell me that you're happy in that rainy, depressing mess of a city with your stupid, probably screwing some other woman, husband. Look at me and tell me that you don't love me. At least say that you don't care if I love you. You can do that, can't you? _Can't you_?"

He cradled his head in his hands before mumbling, "Christ. I'm yelling at a picture."

_  
Cos I'm looking at you through the glass  
Don't know how much time has passed  
And all I know is that it feels like forever  
But no one ever tells you that forever  
Feels like home, sitting all alone inside your head_

"**Addison**, if a woman ever catches my eye, I'd be terrified to introduce the two of you."

"And why is that?" she asked indignantly.

"Because _you'll_ be the one who brings out the embarrassing baby pictures and the video tapes of me singing Barry Manilow."

"_Really_." There was not question mark in her voice, but he mentally added it and answered:

"Yes. And if a woman does end up catching my eye, the first thing on my mind would not be embarrassing childhoods, but retrieving my eye from afore mentioned _homo sapien_ of the female persuasion, and wondering how my visual organ gained the ability to fly through the air for the sole purpose of being caught," he finished in one breath. She laughed again, and gave up on bringing him to her cousin, and went off in search of said relative to bring to him

_And it's the stars  
The stars that shine for you  
And it's the stars  
The stars that lie to you  
_

**He sighed** and picked up the duffel bag he had packed, what...two years ago? Couldn't have been that long. Maybe just last year. Six months ago. Yeah. Six months ago, at least. Just a week's worth of clothing. That was all he needed. And he'd packed it the week after she left because he knew he'd give in in a moment of weakness and run off after her, like one of those dirty mistresses that he hated. He'll get time off. Just a week, just one week to see if he accepted her, to see if he loved her, to see if she still insisted that she loved him.

_  
I'm looking at you through the glass  
Don't know how much time has passed  
Oh God it feels like forever  
But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home  
Sitting all alone inside your head _

_  
_He left a message for Emily, the latest girl to have fallen under the Sloane spell only to discover that he wasn't interested, only flirting. The difference with her was that she didn't really care, was a sucker for tragic romance, and was content with being lonely and single as she comforted someone else who was not so complacent. She would have been the kind of kid who expected the dirty mistress to get the not-so-heroic-anymore-hero in all the books and was sorely disappointed every time.

_Cos I'm looking at you through the glass  
Don't know how much time has passed  
All I know is that it feels like forever  
But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home  
Sitting all alone inside your head_

The man sitting next to him on the plane looked as glum as he felt. "Nonstop flight to Seattle," he said to Mark. "Most depressing city in the world."

"But healthiest," Mark replied, "if you live." The man smiled.

"I'm from there. Jesus, if it's not raining, it's overcast. Have to go see the family." Mark winced. "I know. Why're you going?"

"I got some business there."

"Ooh, you win." He slipped the headphones over his ears, and Mark did the same.

He plugged into the in-flight radio, searched around until he found the single station without Celine Dion or a member of the orchestral family. Then he settled back in his seat and closed his eyes.

He didn't think about what he'd do when he got to Seattle Grace. Something would present itself. If he was lucky, one of Derek's interns would help him locate the Shepherds. There would be nothing that irked Derek more than seeing his interns interact with his former best friend.

A genuine smile stole over his face for the first time in months.

If there was a God, He'd throw an intern his way.

-end-

* * *

See? Humorous Angst. C'est possible.

I'm serious about Seattle, though. The suicide rate there is four times the national average, but the people who are alive are the healthiest, cos they're not horribly depressed by the weather. That is either a scientific fact, or completely made up. I'll let you be the judge.

Review.


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